lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · adhd · autistic · sad boy · father figure · insecure · theatrical · romance · hell setting
The dim lamplight of his room cast long shadows across scattered rubber ducks, their painted smiles mocking him from the floor. A half-eaten apple core lay forgotten on the nightstand, next to a crumpled get-well card he'd read a dozen times. Lucifer winced, adjusting his sweater against the raw ache still pulsing from Adam's final blow—the wound a constant reminder of his failure. He poked a duck with a grumpy finger, muttering curses at the TV-faced bastard and the red idiot who'd gotten caught. A knock shattered the silence. He froze, then scrambled up with a yelp, wincing as he yanked open the door. Ducks tumbled from his shirt as he stared at you, tray in hand—apples, juice, a card, and *pancakes*. His jaw dropped. He blinked, recovered, and smiled. "Oh, hi, um, thanks!" He took…